


Group Date

by roseymama



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Therapy, Tumblr: promptsinpanem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseymama/pseuds/roseymama
Summary: As a freshman at Capitol University, Katniss is doing a lot of things she didn’t anticipate. Attending a weekly group therapy, for one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This probably wouldn’t have seen the light of day without a last PiP. Thanks for the kick in the pants, J and A! Thanks to my husband for pre-reading. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I have thoughts for a part 2, but it's all fast and loose right now, hence the complete status.

Free group therapy is definitely not a widely advertised feature of Capitol University, but I’m glad it’s available. I know I never would have heard about it if my Intro to Material Sciences professor, Dr. Cinna, hadn’t recommended signing up. Not so much recommended as dangled extra credit when I went to see him to ask for help with an assignment. Any engineering student like me will tell you, extra credit might as well be required work - less stressful since it won’t count against you if you don’t ace it, but it’s still going to get done. Even as a first quarter freshman, I wasn’t about to let easy points pass me by.

“I find that a lot of my students suffer from a lack of general knowledge about campus.” Cinna reached into a drawer and seemed to shuffle through a few file folders. “So I like to offer my Intro students extra credit that might have more… meaningful value.”

Dr. Cinna passed me a small collection of brochures from the student health center about various issues students could get help with. I just had to read the pamphlets, do a little research, and tell him my findings. He told me that if I could turn in a two page paper on the helpfulness of student health services in 5 weeks, then the extra points were mine.

I took the pamphlets and went to the library, sitting in my favorite desk booth towards the rear of the building. There’s a window nearby, and it’s on the side of the building that overlooks some trees and a stream so I can stare outside without annoying coeds playing hacky sack in my view. It can be poetic to finish a calculus problem and then glance out the window at a tree bending in the wind at just the same curve as the equation you just integrated.

I wanted to approach the paper like any other piece of engineering homework: estimate the amount of work necessary, research my options, and then follow through. But engineering homework usually doesn’t make me sob uncontrollably for 3 hours. After reading through the stack of pamphlets, the realization that I might have some serious mental health problems left me feeling so overwhelmed I could barely breathe.

I could tell things were getting out of hand when a pair of obviously interrupted lovers emerged from the stacks to see what the commotion was about. Wasn’t it obvious I was a walking disaster? Surely they could see what a mess I was without needing to reference the stack of “how to identify the signs of” brochures I was crying over.

My embarrassingly public, embarrassingly loud panic attack in the library landed me in the health services offices by the end of the afternoon. A library aide noticed my distress, walked me to the health center, and told the nurse on duty that I might need some medical attention.

My time with the primary medical staff ended with the recommendation that I “eat a sandwich and get that head looked at.” And thus began my personal relationship with the mental health services available to students of Capitol University. There are only so many spots for individual sessions so it’s nearly impossible to get on the schedule, but my breakdown qualified me for an immediate consultation. By the end of my first meeting with Dr. Aurelius I had a packet detailing my initial diagnosis, my treatment plan, my care team, and how to contact them.

The fact that I have a slew of university staff assigned to me is a bit unusual. Even though most students who visit him need more than just a little help and encouragement, Dr. Aurelius was surprised and concerned I had so few people to count on. Parents? Boyfriend? Friends back home? A simple but honest no was all he could get out of me. I wasn’t quite ready to tell him about how my mother checked out after my dad’s work-related death. And then all but left me to fend for myself after my sister died in a car accident. On my eighteenth birthday, Mom let me know that our lease was almost up and she was moving to a new town. I don’t have any extended family to speak of, and my permanent address is a P.O. box just off campus.

My team consists of various university employees who were willing to look out for me when the good doctor called them. Of course, Dr. Cinna had called Dr. Aurelius before giving me the brochures and volunteered to be a part of my team should I want one. The health services coordinator, Effie Trinket, is invaluable in making sure I get priority scheduling. And while she may be more than a little over the top, I have to admit her color coded plan book scheme has been a neurotic-looking but tidy way to make sure everything I need to do gets done. It’s less uncommon to have a prep team - a group of three resident advisors who will help prepare someone for group or be available for therapy homework or an extra ear. In my case, Flavius, Venia, and Octavia all live in my building and demand to see me every Friday night to make sure I look and feel ready. They obviously have my best interests at heart, but I can’t begin to count how many times they have tsk-tsked over my hair, or nails, or lack of “appropriate social wear”.

The most surprising member of my care team is my academic advisor. Standard university procedure dictates that my advisor would get a call about any medical treatment that may impact class scheduling. I just didn’t expect him to care. In our first and only meeting at the beginning of the year he succinctly told me, “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not your mommy and I’d rather hold a beer than your hand. Welcome to college. Stay alive.”

I figured that must be decent advice coming from a professor whose office seemed like a serious public health hazard. The out of control piles of food waste, papers, books, and other detritus I couldn’t begin to identify, coupled with the empty handles and overwhelming stench of liquor, gave the distinct impression any student with half a mind to could blow up the entire hallway with a single match.

Apparently Haymitch Abernathy did, despite his initial churlish response to my existence, want to be my “mommy.” When he received the health-law abiding cryptic email about “K. Everdeen’s medically excused absences” for the week following my library panic attack, he immediately called the contact number on my file to make sure I was ok. Since that number was the one I had in high school when I applied to Capitol and had long been shut off, Haymitch looked up my emergency and parental contact information. Realizing everything pointed to the same number which he knew had been deactivated, Haymitch came directly to my dorm hall and asked to speak with my RA to make sure someone knew I was sick and was taking care of me.

The largest element of my care is my participation in group therapy. I wasn’t keen on the idea of spending two to three hours a week playing a bizarre, supervised version of Truth or Dare. The doctor insisted that group therapy has been “remarkably effective” for students with similar diagnoses. At first I thought I was placed in the Friday evening group because it fit in my schedule and didn’t interfere with my coursework getting turned in on time, but Dr. A explained to me that everyone in the group has social anxiety issues. He’s been amazed by how much progress patients make when they have an excuse not to go out with well intentioned, overzealous roommates. Plus, the therapists can schedule extended activities for the group to help with our social skills.

So far, most of our group sessions have been fairly tame. We meet in a room in the student union at 7 pm and are usually wrapping up for the night by 9:15. In the past twelve weeks everyone in the group has had a chance to speak a bit, and we’ve gotten a sort of rhythm. Dr. Aurelius starts our time by asking if anyone has any pressing concerns to discuss. I often wonder why he thinks a group of students with social anxiety problems is going to volunteer to start the conversation.

He usually launches into a speech about how open communication is the key to successful treatment and he’ll bring up an issue to discuss for the night. After listening to himself talk for five minutes, Dr. A selects a name from a bowl. Whoever’s name is on that slip of paper gets to talk about the week’s selected topic first. One girl, Annie, starts crying as soon as the bowl makes its appearance.The first few weeks it freaked me out, but now it’s just another part of the routine.

This week, Dr. Aurelius clears his throat and declares, “I think you all are doing exceptionally well, as a group and as individuals.”

Uh oh. Dr. Aurelius is complimenting us again. That’s never good. Well, in the long run I guess it’s good, but in the short term it means that he’s about to make us do a “Stretch Exercise”. As awkward and uncomfortable as they always seem to be, I bask in the feeling of accomplishment once they’re completed. After an SE last month, I was so emotionally and mentally exhausted I slept for 13 hours straight. But I managed to procure a partner for a class project without the professor assigning one, and I didn’t even sweat through my shirt in the process.

I’m just noticing that Dr. Aurelius is shuffling through a stack of papers instead of the usual bowl of names. I think he’s separating the stack into smaller piles. This can’t be good. Small piles means small groups. I used to be nervous about group therapy but there is a certain security in the large group. Smaller groups leave me feeling more exposed and place a greater burden to speak up.

“I have every confidence that you will all do wonderfully in our next Stretch Exercise, but we need to do some preparation first.” Dr. Aurelius begins to place the piles at his feet and I notice some flyers from one of the local pizzerias. “I’m going to break us into groups of five or six people. Each group is going to select a restaurant and go out to eat together. I want you all to discuss your options and come to an agreement. Look over the menus. I’ll provide you with a stipend for your meals next week.”

As the good doctor starts announcing the groups, I feel a wave of nervous energy ripple across the room. As a group, we are all getting more comfortable, but this is different. And nobody here has a lot of fondness for different.

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief at my assignment. My group seems like it will be innocuous enough. While a cryer, Annie is really a sweet girl and I like her. Johanna is brash and loud, but straightforward in a way I can appreciate. Finnick Odair tends to cope with his anxiety through double entendres, over the top behavior, and forcing everyone to feel as uncomfortable as he usually feels, but once he realized his outrageous demeanor caused me to turn purple in choked coughing fits he started to tone things down around me. Rue is even sweeter than Annie and she reminds me so much of my sister Prim it makes my chest ache. Her quiet demeanor makes me wonder what Prim would have been like in college. I can’t help but like her. Then there’s me. And Peeta.

Peeta Mellark is the one person from group therapy who I had met before my meltdown. We grew up in the same town and had gone to school together since forever. When my dad died, he brought a basket of baked goods by our house. It was a kindness I’ve never forgotten, but stupidly repaid with an eloquent, “Not you!” when I first saw him in the group therapy circle. Dr. A seemed mildly alarmed, but I don’t think anyone else heard me. Which is good since I look forward to seeing him every week now. Peeta has become my go-to partner for pair exercises and always provides an encouraging smile and steadying presence when I feel unsure while talking in front of the group.

A quiet break is called next. I love quiet breaks. Usually they are short, and they probably make group last longer than strictly necessary, but especially with our set of social and anxiety issues, having time apart to not participate keeps us all grounded. Tonight we can sit and digest the information set before us, go to the bathroom, or generally decompress before reconvening in our smaller groups.

I immediately jump up to help break up the large circle of chairs into smaller groups. I’m feeling anxious about the restaurant selection and stipend. I really just need more information to make me more comfortable. If we get set up quickly, maybe Dr. A will drop off the packets and let me start sifting through it before everyone gets back. Glancing to the side, I see Peeta easily lift a stack of five heavy chairs and start to form a circle. I drag one more chair over and flop down, staking claim to the area for our small group.

I’m staring at my shoes, debating if I should attempt to flag the doctor down when a second set of feet enter my field of vision. I look up, and Peeta is rigidly hovering over me. After a moment of awkwardly staring at each other he stiffly puts his hand out.

“I’m looking forward to eating with you, Katniss.”

“Umm. Yeah. Can’t complain about a free meal.” I know from weeks of therapy that physically acknowledging and affirming each other’s presence is big with Peeta, so I take a deep breath and stretch out my arm to shake his hand.

I enjoy the tingling warmth of his firm grip. The smile that splits my face feels like it must be farcically large. How have I gone so long without Peeta wanting to affirm and acknowledge me before? How can I get him to do it again? I’m idly wondering if his hugs are just as lovely and warm when the rest of the group descends on the packet that’s been placed in the center of the circle.

My thoughts are travelling farther from the logistics of going to a restaurant and picking something to eat. I’m starting to plan this dinner around sitting and interacting with this group of people. And Peeta. I surprise myself as I realize I’m trying to come up with ways to maximize my opportunities to acknowledge and affirm every bit of his presence.


End file.
